When Darkness Turns to Light
by Dreadedfemale
Summary: Sam's been shanghaied and thrown in a trunk. Dean finds himself cuffed to a motel bed with a rather bland stranger keeping watch over him.
1. Take me away

**A/N: **I own nothing save a pair of "Chucks" circa 1943. But if I did………

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It's dark where he is. Dark and cold and cramped. Suddenly movement and with it an ocean of vertigo. His stomach drops. The feeling of momentum tells him he must be in the trunk of a car. He shivers. Tries to adjust his position. Bad idea. He knocks his head against something. The pain is shards of glass behind his eyes. Razor blades at the base of his skull. His entire world is misery sharp and distinct. His eyes are shut. He squeezes them tighter. Willing away his reality. It doesn't work. He can hear voices. He tries to recall how he came to be in this place.

The last thing he remembers is checking into some no-tell motel with his brother. The carpet threadbare. The art deco wall hanging outdated by at least three decades. The comforters scratchy and the sheets nothing short of questionable but the beds had been soft. Probably from years of acrobatic use. He hadn't cared then. He had been so tired.

He is so tired. He shifts a little again forgetting himself and brings on another onslaught of nausea bile burning the back of his throat. It takes all of his concentration to push it back. Bad enough in here without wallowing in his own vomit.

He sleeps or maybe he just faints. Time passes even without him. Till he opens his eyes. He wonders how long it's been since the motel. Tries to see his watch. He realizes his hands are tied in front. He twists them. No matter. The darkness insists upon itself and time has no place here in the dark. He drifts again his eyelids slabs of granite.

As suddenly as it had started the movement stops tossing him none to kindly back into the world. Doors slam. Footsteps on what sounds like gravel outside. He brings his knees to his chest feeling with bound hands for the knife he carries in his boot. Again misfortune smiles. His mind is like a whirlwind now. Adrenaline kicks in. Fear and anticipation clamber for supremacy making his heart dance a jig. Keys in the lock a musical tinkling, like wind-chimes. Hinges cry out in frustration demanding oil. Day light begins to slip through the expanding crack as it becomes a fissure. He smells earth, green things and the dirty musky stench of exhaust. Sol is a brilliant blaze against a cloudless sky. A shadow descends partially blocking the sun so that all he can see is a shape. Human in aspect it's face a blank mask devoured by the glare.

"You're awake. Good."


	2. Breakout

**A/N:** Okay first things first. Did you know that you are not allowed to post choose your own adventure style fics on this site? Yeah well I apparently over looked that part also. It's under guidelines. It actually says no "choose your own" style posts. SO. Unfortunately I guess we'll have to stop with the voting thing. I will however finish this little endeavor anyway. Thanks for reading!

Also sorry this is a little late. I actually had to work this week. Go figure.

Alas I own nothing save a 30 year old rocker recliner in the ever popular shades of Avocado, Chocolate, Russet and Lemon but mostly Avocado. ; )

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The figure steps back giving him room to unfold his large frame from the confines of the trunk. A wave of dizziness grips him causing him to sway and his stomach to clench. He sits heavily on the bumper of the car putting his head between his knees. In that position he is able to read the license plate on the car. Ohio CNK 80Q3. _Shit. Dean's gonna be pissed. _

His head now clear he straightens raises his hands to shield his eyes. No longer directly in the glare of the sun the figure swims into focus.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dean comes awake by degrees. Aware first of only light then sound and finally smell. He wrinkles his nose a knee jerk reaction to the reek of stale sweat, cheap cigars and under that, barely perceptible to someone not so used to its subtle coppery bouquet, blood.

He does a quick inventory making sure all parts and pieces are present and accounted for. His hands are cuffed, one on either side, to one of the vertical bars on the metal bed frame. His right shoulder is bunched making it ache and there's a tender spot just above his right ear.

He cracks his eyes just that much. Day light streams into the room from somewhere out of his line of vision. He sees nothing but he can hear loud snoring. A little wider and he turns his head just so. Out of the corner of one eye he can just make out a figure in the aged easy chair. He rolls onto his back freezing when the mattress squeals. He holds his breath for an interminable amount of time before finally relaxing again.

He takes a chance and lifts his head completely scanning the room. No Sam. _Son-of-a-bitch!_ He pulls experimentally on his bonds keeping a wary eye on the figure in the recliner. The guy is big though not fat dressed in a polo and a pair of khakis. Short blond hair neatly trimmed. Average Joe. Weird. Where's the B.O. coming from?

The bar he's pulling on shifts slightly. He freezes again. Waits. Then he hooks his toes under the horizontal bar at the foot of the bed and using it as leverage pulls as hard as he can on the cuffs. The bar above him gives with a pop he'd swear later you could hear for blocks. The guy in the chair makes a choking sound in his sleep but doesn't wake.

Dean sits up in the bed. Sharp pain lances through his head making the room spin. He brings his united palms to his forehead rubbing with the heels. He touches the side of his head gingerly. Feels dried blood flake away.

He scans the room again. Different perspective now. Sitting he can see everything. On the table next to the recliner is a notebook and hugging its cover….a paperclip.

"Score." He says creeping over to get it.

He's just popped the second cuff when he hears a rattling outside the door. Keys in the lock, loud like a bagful of quarters. He throws another glance at the guy in the chair who continues to sleep on oblivious.

Instead of trying to hide or search for a weapon he boldly walks to the door and opens it.

"What are you doing here?"


	3. Running scared

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. All work and no play makes Dreadedfemale late for updating. So here it is finally.

Also I own nothing except a brick of hundred year old sweet grass. But if I did….

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No longer in the glare of the sunlight the figure swims into focus.

He's finds himself facing a girl who can't be more than 15 years old. She's very pretty in a girl next door way. When she smiles though, God, it's bone chilling.

"Hello Sam."

He doesn't recognize the soft sweet voice but he recognizes the tone. The attitude. The smug self satisfied look on her face. She bends down till he can feel the heat of her breath on his face. He shifts. The two huge dudes standing behind her take a step toward them. She waves them off never taking her eyes from his. He tramples the urge to lean away. _Never show fear._

"Do you like my new meat suit Sam? I like it cuz it's grown up without being too grown up. Do you have any idea how many souls have damned themselves just this week because of this body?" She puts her hands on his legs, rubs her cheek against his stretching like a cat.

"Mmmmm you smell so good. Eau de Terror is my favorite scent. Did you wear it just for me?"

He sets his jaw refusing to respond. She turns and sits on his lap dropping her head back so that her hair falls over his shoulder. She reaches back and curls her arms around his neck.

"Sam-my." She sing-songs the girls soft voice replaced by the husky purr of a 900 number diva.

"Don't you want to play with me anymore? Sam-my." She rubs her back against his chest. Side to side. Slow and sinuous

"If you come with me I'll make sure nothing ever hurts your brother again. I'll put out a bulletin that Dean Winchester is off limits. For good." She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It makes his skin crawl.

"He's got the angels to help him now anyway and they don't like you very much Sam." She shifts so that she's still on his lap but facing him again. The longer she's touching him the dirtier he feels. She speaks, her lips against his and it's all he can do not to recoil.

"But _I_ like you. You're more like us than you are like them you know."

He can't take anymore and he turns his head away.

"You'll learn to like me too." She gets to her feet graceful as any dancer. She motions to her goons.

"Bring him inside."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass is what." Bobby peers into the room beyond Dean. "Where's the other guy?"

"What other guy?"

"Me." Comes the response from behind him. The fetor from earlier assaults him again full force.

"Oh. Yeah. B.O. guy. Right."

"Come on boy!" Bobby yells grabbing for him.

Dean doesn't waste a second. He bolts from the room Bobby at his heels and doesn't even stop to open the door of Bobby's Chevelle he just dives in the window while Bobby climbs in the drivers seat and punches the gas. B.O. guy slams his fists into the trunk as they speed past.

"How did you find me?" Dean asks breathlessly.

"G.P.S. in your phone. Trick I learned from this smart-assed kid."

"Ha-Haaa. Kid must be a freakin' genius or something."

"Or something's right. How you feeling?"

"Fine I guess. Nothing a coupla asprin won't kill."

"Good cause there's no rest for the weary today. We gotta get to your brother and fast."

"You found Sam? Where the hell is he?"

"_She's_ got him holed up in some cabin days drive from here. Grouper County State Park. She's bound and determined to make him turn darkside. She don't care what it takes either so be ready for anything."

"Who's _she_ Bobby?"

He doesn't answer right away and for a second Dean thinks maybe he won't. Then he turns and the look he's wearing makes Dean get cold all over again.

"Lillith."


End file.
